Patriot

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The sixth-richest man in England ducked his head.

Pure instinct, it was. A tight formation of four Russian MiG-35s suddenly came screaming out of the blinding sun, thundering directly over Lord Alexander Hawke’s Royal Navy watch cap. Silver wings flashing, thrusters howling, the fighter jets quickly shed altitude and skimmed over his position, their squat air brakes down for landing.

“What the hell?” Alex Hawke muttered to himself. The British intelligence officer was looking straight up as four fighter jets thundered not a hundred feet over his head! MiG-35s in bloody Cuba? He’d have to alert his superiors at MI6 London straightaway.

These MiG fighters were the most radical thing aloft these days; their mere presence here on the island of Cuba confirmed one of Hawke’s worst suspicions about his mission: the Russians were no longer fooling around playing, the unconvincing role of “advisors” to the aging Castro brothers. Despite Cuba’s impending and highly problematic “detente” with America, the Muscovites had clearly returned to this island paradise to stay. And they meant business.

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